Kageyama Tobio loves in ways nobody does. It's how his cellphone's rubber case has numerous fingernail dents because he gripped it too hard once from debating apologies. It's how he barely talked to anyone after a bad game but somehow tolerated you enough to not snap when you ask the why's.

It's the 14th of February, a Saturday he was supposed to spend sleeping in. But now he's standing in front of shelves upon shelves of plushies—watching keenly with both hands shoved into his dark jeans as you pick up numerous different animals.

His white tee was tucked in neatly, a watch on his left wrist as a shopping bag hung from the other. What he wore was simple — nothing fancy, but the way he carried himself? Heck, he didn't have to try hard to turn heads. He was basically a magnet.

“This one looks like you!” You point at a grumpy-looking kitten and hold it up. He stares at it, noticing the calico fur and mean face, with the same piercing blue eyes that scowled back at him. Kageyama is at it with his off-putting silence again, seemingly offended at the correlation.

“I don't.” He says it like it's final, immediate and didactic.

“It does!”

“Whatever.” He doesn't argue, only looks away to glare elsewhere. Kageyama never made anything clear—his feelings, what he wanted to say, what he had to do. Communication wasn't verbal in your relationship; but the requitement could be heard. In vibrations, in the way you feel the brightness even when your eyes are closed.

It's how, right now, he's squinting his eyes that darkened as the minute stretched out far too long—how he doesn't like the way they're looking at you. How he's so close to drilling a hole into their faces the more they keep ogling over you but you don't seem to notice. Even when it's painfully obvious.

He's made a promise to himself to not turn you off—to control that wretched temper and foul mouth of his, but he can't help himself. Not when he's already taken a step forward and cornered 5 high schoolers like it didn't have major consequences.

“Hey,”

“Whatcha looking at?” Kageyama tilts his chin up when he nods, pertaining to the group of boys whose eyes roamed to a territory that wasn't for them.

His territory.

Who do these idiots think they are looking at you like he wasn't there? When he acknowledges their presence, they look at him in confusion for a moment before the fear quickly settles in. They knew who this guy was.

You stop in your tracks then, wondering who he was talking to. Friends, maybe? But friends don't usually cower and make themselves smaller when he was in front of them. You knew Tobio was tall. Tall enough to tower over them and cast a shadow. But this time, it looked like he was using it to his advantage. Not in a good way, too.

“Do I have to ask again?” Kageyama asks, brow raising as he curls his hands into a fist. His tone wasn't friendly, almost authoritative. And his aura was menacing, a blazing fire surrounding him who was normally icy cold.

His voice drops lower, “This ain't a free show so scram, ya dogs.” The subtle clench in his jaw wasn't unnoticeable, neither was the way the guys shuffled nervously and cautiously looked at each other.

They all thought the same thing; who would want to fight a guy like that? So the boys get on their feet and leave in a hurry—shaken and having learned their lesson.

Kageyama watches as they disappear rather quickly and scoffs to himself. “That's what I thought.”